


Inside the Tower

by Ariejul



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Circle Tower, Comfort/Angst, Demons, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3193397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariejul/pseuds/Ariejul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one deserves what happened in the Tower. Especially not Cullen, who never hurt anyone and stammered so sweetly. She shies away from the memory of hatred in his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inside the Tower

She's screaming.

She isn't sure _why_ , but whenever her mouth opens, all that spills forth are sounds frightful enough to rouse the dead. Her heart is pounding against her ribs; her hand quivers on her skin from the force of it. Isn't she in camp? It's night, yes?

She isn't sure, and her eyes won't _focus!_ All she can see is a blurry haze of black swimming in front of her. Had she been dreaming? _Sweat and blood and pain and_ _ **betrayal**_... _demon eyes dancing in darkness, laughing at her._ _ **Looking**_ _like her._

A hand touches her shoulder, and reflexively she flinches away as fire dances across the offending fingers. “ _OW!_ ” She should know that voice, shouldn't she? “Maker's Breath, that _hurt_ , Surana!”

Her head finally starts to clear and she meets the eyes of her Templar. Yes, she knows this face. This one would never hurt her...even if she hurts him over and _over_ and _**over**_. “Alistair,” she breaths, “I'm sorry. I...I think I was dreaming.” But, she really isn't _sure_. The dream is gone, lost somewhere within the Fade. _Sword crashing down...she took too long. No..no, she passed. She's here. This...this...it's_ _ **wrong.**_

She shivers as her Templar wraps her up tightly – _safely_ – in his arms, cooing sweet nothings in her ear. The voice lingers, twisting until it is different, darker; when she looks, Alistair isn't there anymore. All she sees in the darkness is a boy ( _she could never call anyone who stammers so sweetly and purely a_ _ **man**_ ) with wavy hair and frigid eyes. He isn't stammering and is no longer a boy.

His eyes are hard and filled with hate, staring at her like she made him everything he is, took away his life, and who knows, maybe she did. She isn't sure of anything anymore. Suddenly, there is a sword in his grasp, and she is struck with horror as his face twists into something she can't even recognize. The weapon crashes down; she jerks awake, but she isn't screaming.

Alistair is sleeping beside her. When had she drifted back to dreams? She gently shrugs away from him and dons her robe before slipping outside the tent. It is close to dawn, and Zevran is keeping watch. She sighs, wishing that she hadn't bothered getting up. Zevran isn't exactly someone she wants to deal with right now.

Walking over to the fire, she nestles down onto the log they use for sitting. She doesn't need to look up to know that the assassin is watching her. “Are you going to speak, or merely sit and stare?” she asks after a moment.

“How could I not, when the vision before me is so lovely?” His words are sweet, but they mean nothing.

“I am in no mood for your flirting, Crow,” she murmurs, pulling her robe more tightly around her. The air is cool, seeping into her skin unpleasantly. It reminds her of the dream, and the frigid eyes of a boy Templar who should never want to hurt anyone.

Zevran tsks under his breath, walking over to sit beside her. “And here I was going to offer my services to help rub away whatever troubles you, my dear Warden.”

She holds up a hand to him, quieting him. She knows that he means nothing in his words, that it is his way of trying to help her, but she just can't stand listening to his lechery tonight. Not after wading in dreams of the Circle Tower and the man she thinks she unknowingly destroyed. “Please. Not tonight, Zevran.”

The assassin bumps her shoulder gently with his, drawing her attention. “What troubles you? It is not often you leave the comfort of your tent so early. Did you have another of your Warden dreams?”

She sighs, rubbing a hand wearily across her face. Zevran had been with her at the Tower. He had seen the destruction with his own eyes. Would he understand, she wonders. She glances over at him before allowing her gaze to drift back to the glowing embers of the fire.

“No. I..I dreamt of the Tower.” She almost speaks of Cullen and how he had struck her down with such unbridled hatred, but she doesn't. It is somehow too private.

Zevran makes a soft sound of acknowledgment under his breath. “And of the young Templar you saved?”

She tries hard not to react, to give him any clue that she cares at all. It takes everything she has not to cry. It is easy to forget that Zevran notices more than he lets on, and he was there to hear Cullen's strangled confession. It seems wrong with Alistair sleeping only a few feet away to confess her own attraction to the boy Templar still trapped in the Tower. A part of her thinks it would have been better if she had been too late and Cullen had died. At least he wouldn't be in pain.

Such thoughts make her feel like a monster.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Cullen. His name is Cullen.”

“Oh? And was his face the one you feared to see in every dead Templar we encountered?”

She absently worries her lip with her teeth. She feels sudden guilt well in her gut. “You noticed.”

“Of course, dear Warden. It was hard to miss how you held your breath as you removed their helmets or the sweet sigh of relief when the face was not the one you sought.” He winks at her. “Do not fear. Our dear Alistair did not notice your search. Your secret is safe.”

His words do nothing to quell her guilt. It feels starkly like betrayal. “I shouldn't have secrets. Not from Alistair.”

“We all carry secrets, my dear. You needn't share them all with your lover or feel guilty over such things. I am curious, however. Were you...close to this Templar? You must have, to search so earnestly.”

She stares at her feet. She tries to forget the way Cullen's eyes followed her and how it made her feel special. “Templars and Mages don't speak. They watch us, and we try to ignore that.”

“Apparently this Cullen enjoyed watching a bit more than others. Perhaps you did not ignore him quite so much, yes?” Zevran watches her with that unreadable look he has too often. It still bothers how difficult he is to read.

“He attended my Harrowing. He would have been the one to kill me if something went wrong.” She nudges around a small rock with her toe absently, trying not to conjure up that specific memory. “I think it was as much a test for him as it was for me.”

“I take it he was not terribly subtle in his affections?”

She laughs, sharp and bitter. “I was apparently the only person who didn't know.”

Zevran chuckles, low and throaty. It is a pleasant noise that makes her insides tingle. “Such is the way of things, dear Warden.” His expression turns dark, almost sinister. “Did he take advantage of having power over you?”

The question startles her, and she snaps her gaze to him. “What? No.” She smiles softly. “It wasn't like that. _He_ wasn't like that. He could barely speak to me without stammering.”

“You seem to have a knack for finding charming, romantically inept Templars, my dear.” She could hear the laughter in his voice. She didn't dare mention that one of the reasons she'd been attracted to Alistair was because he reminded her of Cullen. Dear, sweet Cullen locked in the Tower with his demons.

She wets her lips and plays with the sleeve of her robe. “I suppose I do.”

“Do not let it trouble you so, dear Warden. You did everything you could for him. He must overcome his demons on his own,” Zevran says softly, reaching out to briefly squeeze her knee. He stands then, moving back to the edge of the firelight with only a backward glance and smile as farewell.

Surana frowns. “What if he doesn't?”

Zevran turns back, arms crossed over his chest. “His will is obviously strong, to survive when his fellows did not. He will endure.” He turns back to the darkness, allowing her some privacy in the firelight.

She wishes his words were more than cold comfort. No one deserves what happened in the Tower. Especially not Cullen, who never hurt anyone and stammered so sweetly. She shies away from the memory of hatred in his eyes.

After a moment to recover herself, she walks over to Zevran and takes his hand in hers. His eyes find hers, a question lingering just behind them. She gives him a small smile. “Thank you.”

He seems surprised but hides it quickly under a smarmy smile. “It is a pleasure, my lovely Warden. You need only ask, and I will be at your service.” He bows slightly, flourishing with his free hand.

She raises a brow in amusement and bids him goodnight before slipping back into the tent she shares with Alistair. While her heart is still heavy, her guilt isn't quite so overwhelming. She slips into her Templar's arms, and nightmares of demons and Templars do not trouble her further that night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I find Cullen's story compelling for a lot of reasons. I started this back before the second game even came out and forgot about it. I came across it a few days ago and decided to finish it. It's nice to see that Cullen ends up being ok. I hope you like it, and tell me what you think.


End file.
